


Truth And Consequences

by Britpacker



Series: The Way Back [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: It's been a long time since Malcolm was in the same room as his parents.  Trip's about to see why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Unbeta'd as ever, and done for fun.  
>  Set a couple of years after the events of Laying The Ghosts.

"And so the Cap'n said, you want to mate with my dog in the temple? Hell, I never thought a green face could go white so fast!" Commander Charles Tucker III slapped his denim-clad thigh, his voice rising over the laughter of his companions. "The ambassador damn near fainted as his feet before the UT caught up and Hoshi explained the Alangari were askin' for Porthos to sit on a ceremonial cushion to be placed in the temple after - the verbs to mate and to sit are the same, it's just the inflexion that makes the difference."

That could get tricky in certain circumstances," Madeleine Reed observed, delicately wiping the corners of her streaming blue-grey eyes. "Honestly, Trip! Excuse me madam, would you mind if I sit with you... there'd be men nursing slapped faces all over the place!"

"It'd be all right in nightclubs - one could always say it was all a terrible misunderstanding if the lady took offence." His intervention only served to heighten their hilarity, but Malcolm didn't mind. Seeing his partner and his little sister so comfortable together on their second meeting, and in spite of the stress Madeleine had undergone moving into her smart Georgian mid-terrace the very day before their arrival, made all the agonising that (for him, Trip had been as over-excited as a seven-year-old heading for the fairground) had preceded their visit worthwhile.

They still liked each other. Maddie really didn't mind her brother being - well, _gay_. And while she and Trip swapped stories he could sit back, relax and simply enjoy them both.

"You'd better not be planning on tryin' that with any lady, Mister Reed," his lover drawled, casually lifting the hand that rested in Malcolm's lap up to his lips. Not even the shiver that ran straight down his arm and into his heart could completely blind the brunet to the fond smile crossing his sister's face.

"No lady _or_ gentleman, love; unless you're up for a bit of Alangari role-play," he cooed, bringing their linked hands to nestle in the cradle of his thighs. Madeleine made a show of covering her ears.

"Malc, I love you dearly, but there are certain parts of your psyche I really don't need to know about," she announced, stretching from her wing chair to adjust the setting of an elegant porcelain lamp, formed in the graceful figure of a dancer and surrounded by an unholy mess of half-eaten snacks, on the coffee table. "D' you want the fire turning up a notch? It's starting to get chilly." 

"I'm all right - Trip?" At his neighbour's nod, Malcolm returned his full attention to the pretty ash-blond peeking beneath her lashes at him. "And come off it, sis. I know you had a glass to the dividing wall last night."

He cackled and Maddie let out a gust of naughty-schoolboy laughter at the horror that contorted his boyfriend's level features. "Hello! Company coming."

"How can you - oh." Her question stopped by the doorbell's chime, Madeleine heaved herself upright and smoothed down her straight grey skirt. "Starfleet auditory training, I suppose."

"Pure observation - shadows on the blind." She rolled her eyes at Trip: either, he decided, in mocking affection or plain disgust at the besotted sap the Southerner knew he was making of himself by lapping up his man's adorable smugness. "Whoever it is, tell 'em to bugger off."

"Aye, sir." With a deliberately slovenly salute Madeleine ambled across the lounge, giving the closed blind which protected their haven from the glare of a streetlight directly outside a twitch as she brushed by. "All right, no need to knock the bloody door down, I'm coming!"

In readiness for the blast of winter evening air across the lounge Trip snuggled closer to his lover. Which meant, when the door swung inward to reveal a lean, hatchet-faced man and a dun, shapeless woman in a shabby tweed skirt suit, Malcolm's quick inhale gusted against his ear with the ferocity of a Caribbean hurricane.

"Madeleine." The man's deep-set pale eyes swept over their hostess and beyond, and he knew the exact instant they locked onto his boyfriend's from the tension which seized that perfect body. "Forgive me. We never imagined you might have guests."

"If I'd known you were in the country..." Helplessly twisting her fingers Maddie glanced back toward the two men, tongue flicking out over suddenly bloodless lips. "I, er... well, would you like to come in?"

"Perhaps it would be better if we didn't." Ice, Trip decided. He'd seen comet surfaces with less of it than he saw in the hard blue eyes of his warm, wonderful lover's dad. "It's clearly inconvenient. We ought to have made an appointment."

"Please, Stuart." A gloved claw clenched around his bony wrist, exposed below the cuff of a weathered jacket cut slightly too short for a lanky man. "Let's not rehash ancient history - particularly not in front of Malcolm and Madeleine's guest. I have respected your wishes scrupulously for many years. Surely, for a few minutes, you can show consideration for mine."

"Very well, Mary. If you insist." Easing aside, Stuart Reed allowed his wife to waddle over the threshold, hanging back when his daughter would have ushered him in her wake. "And I apologise again, Madeleine. It would have been courteous to call, but your mother was anxious to see you were settling in."

"Please don't worry, Dad." Light, bright eyes flicked from one stony expression to another, the barest trace of a furrow cutting between carefully plucked eyebrows so fair as to be almost invisible. Allied to the sudden clipped edge to her pleasant voice, it created a resemblance to her older brother Trip couldn't recall seeing before. "Won't you both sit down? Would you like some tea - or I've got some whisky somewhere, I think it's still in one of the boxes in the garage..."

"Thank you, but no; we shan't be stopping." The words were addressed to his daughter but as he took up the dominant stance by the mantelpiece Stuart Reed's cold stare was fixed entirely on his son. "You look well, Malcolm."

"Thank you; I am." 

_And Johnny used to think he got the formal treatment!_

Every muscle tensed, all emotion squeezed from his tone, this was a Malcolm Reed Trip Tucker didn't know, and he figured he knew the owner of that name a whole lot better than most. "And yourself? Mum?"

"Thank you, we're both well." 

Obviously the inability to handle small-talk was hereditary. Mr Reed ended his sentence with a brief harrumph, folded his hands and discovered something fascinating about his toecaps. Malcolm managed a strangled sound that might have been meant to express satisfaction. His mother and sister both started inspecting their hands.

Even in his most awkward encounters - usually with Vulcans, he acknowledged grimly - Tucker had never felt an atmosphere anything like this.

His instinct was to talk, loudly and aimlessly, embarrassing himself and everybody else in the room in the process. He could feel the words forcing themselves up out of his gullet, a solid block at the base of his throat. He had to fight them back because he just knew, one syllable out of place could trigger an explosion beyond the fevered imaginings of even the crown prince of the chaos theory himself.

He was so acutely conscious Stuart Reed that the apologetic cough of the man's wife, blending so seamlessly into the grey-green-brown of Maddie's soft furnishings that she appeared to be nothing more than a moon face floating in the ether, made him start visibly. "I'm so sorry, we haven't even introduced ourselves to your guest," she murmured, her dark eyes drifting over his face as if it were of the only the vaguest interest. "I'm Mary Reed, Malcolm and Madeleine's mother; this is Captain Stuart Reed, my husband."

"Trip Tucker." He half-rose before she could wave him down with a podgy peaches-and-cream hand. "It's a pleasure t' meet you both, Ma'am."

From Captain Stuart he won the same down-the-nose, thin-lipped stare he'd seen thrown at half a hundred dubious alien visitors to Enterprise; from Mrs Mary a head-waggle and a tentative, lopsided smile. "Are you a friend of Malcolm's, Mister Tucker?"

His mouth was already open, the eager affirmative working its way along his tongue when a well-aimed shot from the port bow stopped it dead. "No, Mum, he's not."

Mrs Reed's head cocked to the right. Malcolm lifted their joined hands from the cradle of his thighs. "Trip is my partner. My boyfriend, if you prefer."

Beneath her pudding bowl of dark hair Mary Reed's complexion drained from pale to ashen, her fingers clawing in the folds of her skirt. And even with his head down Trip could feel the freezer burn of her husband's stare through his crown. "But - but..." she stammered, the placid air of abstraction that had surrounded her dissolving. "I - forgive me, dear, but this is rather a _surprise_ , I had no idea you might be... well..."

"Oh, _Mum!_ " For the first time since seeing her father's sour face Maddie sounded like the woman Trip had come to know, affection and exasperation vibrating through her cry. "You haven't forgotten your twentieth wedding anniversary!"

"Your mother and I assumed Malcolm's _outburst_ was an exaggeration of his well-known contempt for my service, Madeleine." Briefly Trip wondered how the fire was still burning in close proximity to the great long downpour of rain that was Captain Stuart Reed, R.N. 

For the first time he felt tension ease in the lean length pressed against him. "I can assure you, Dad, what erupted out of my mouth that evening was - unusually in our conversations, I'll admit - nothing but the truth. And the term I think you'e looking for, Mum, is bisexual."

"Thank you." 

To anyone unfamiliar with a Reed, the courtesy would sound insane. To Trip it was almost predictable, as was the pained attempt at civil conversation that followed. "You're probably aware, Mr Tucker, that it's been several years since we saw Malcolm..."

"Yes Ma'am, he'd mentioned that." Now he sounded like T'Pol to his own ears, flat and just a tad patronising, but better that, Trip reasoned, than letting what flooded his heart seep into his voice. She made estrangement from her own son sound like bad luck - as if she and her stuffed-shirt iron-ass of a husband hadn't cut him dead for over fifteen years. For a moment Mary Reed's bland expression turned wistful.

"I suppose you met through Starfleet," she suggested, the slide of her eyes right signalling to an observant man - which, Tucker prided himself on being despite appearances - the dangerous nature of the subject raised. He cleared his throat.

"Um, yeah, we did," he said, cringing from how lame he sounded. "We work together."

"That's nice." Though a thick fog of disapproval was visibly swirling between them, Mrs Reed ploughed on. "Are you from Enterprise, then? I understand Malcolm's doing awfully well."

"He's the finest armoury and tactical officer in the fleet, Ma'am, and promoted just last week." Malcolm's intake of breath tickled his cheek, cooling the glow of pride Trip could feel engulfing him. Mary bobbed in her chair. 

"Really? What rank do you hold, Malcolm?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm a lieutenant-commander now."

Interest. Did he really not expect it?

The blank cast of those finely-chiselled features said no, and it made Trip Tucker's heart hurt even while he was logging the Royal Navy standard _Lef_ -tenant, so different from the neutral almost-Americanised _Lieuw-_ tenant Malcolm usually adopted on duty. "That's nice, dear."

_Okay. Not too much interest, then._

Neither Malcolm nor his sister could summon a suitable answer. For a few excruciating seconds all five people studied their fingers, the only sound the slight, asthmatic wheeze of Mary Reed's breathing.

"Good God!" The preceding quiet made Captain Reed's expostulation rebound off the low ceiling like a burst of Suliban gunfire. Hands clenched in front of himself he pushed away from the mantelpiece and moved to glower down at his son, a giant cat with its tail trapped in his bristling fury. "You really do despise me, don't you? To take up with a senior officer... you realise what he's done, Mary? That's the chief engineer! A full commander, no less. I suppose it's how promotions are secured in that service, is it?"

Malcolm took after his mom, Tucker decided. Where Stuart Reed went red, beetroot spots filling the hollows beneath his pronounced cheekbones, Mary's rounder face simply drained of the little colour it usually possessed while her fingers kneaded like a cat's claws in her lap.

"Do you really think you're that important to me, even now?" the younger man asked, so quiet Maddie found herself leaning in, straining to hear the laser-drilled words. "That after all these years I'd choose a lover for the sake of spiking _your_ guns? Christ almighty, I've always suspected you believe the entire universe revolves around you, but that really takes the cake!"

"Malcolm, it's alright."

Until the words kissed his lips Trip hadn't known they were coming. Under the withering stare of Stuart Reed, he wished they hadn't bothered.

"No, love, it's not." The fingers linked with his squeezed hard. "I'm not going to sit here and let anyone - least of all a complete stranger like him - cheapen my feelings for you. You may not have noticed, Dad, but I live my life my way. Falling in love with Trip, like joining Starfleet, is right for me. And if it's not what you expect of a Reed heir, well, to coin a phrase - tough."

"Malc, Dad doesn't mean..."

"Don't tell me what I mean, Madeleine, and your brother's name is _Malcolm_." 

"I know exactly what he means, Mad; what he needs to understand is - I don't care." Emotion making his movements jerky Malcolm dragged his lover's hand to his lips. "Trip and I have been together for two years. Do you really think I'd waste all that time on a relationship purely on the off-chance of spiting you? Trip, I think we should leave. Absence hasn't made the hearts grow fonder in this family, has it?"

"Darlin' I'm sorry." Instinct made him carry their joined hands to rub against his stubbled chin, belatedly conscious of the shocked expressions on the older observers' faces. "If you wanna get out 'f here I'm sure Madeleine'll understand..."

"Mister Tucker, if anyone should leave I believe it's my husband and I." Her chair creaking beneath the sudden movement, Mary Reed catapulted herself from the periphery to stand - bravely, if her daughter's gasp was anything to go by - between the men of her family. "And I apologise, Malcolm - Madeleine. Stuart, would you be kind enough to get the door?"

Her answer was a sharp bow from the waist and a grunt. Deliberately skewing his approach to avoid getting any closer to his son that was necessary, Captain Reed practically quick-marched to the front door, Maddie scudding sideways like a raincloud in a howling gale to get out of his way.

His wife hesitated, gauging the cold expression on Malcolm's face before swooping for a quick, embarrassed hug. "I hope it won't be another sixteen years, darling," she mumbled into his shoulder, and if she knew he'd seen the tears in her eyes Trip decided she didn't mind too much. "I - I read the _Starfleet Gazette_ every month, and I do hope there's a nice picture to go with the promotion announcement, Granny will be so proud!"

"Mary, you don't..."

"Oh of course I do, Stuart, you don't think I'd abandon my own child completely to satisfy your silly fits of pique!" With a noisy click of the tongue, Mrs Reed disengaged herself from her petrified son, smiling over his shoulder to Trip.

Tucker just hoped he wasn't the only one transfixed by the steady climb of crimson up Captain Stuart's scrawny neck, enhanced by the frantic bobbing of a prominent adam's apple. "I thought I'd made it quite clear..." the older man stuttered, his protest dismissed with the wave of a podgy hand.

"That you were determined to be a pompous ninny. Yes, I got that." Tugging the cuff of her left glove, Mary smiled beatifically while three jaws clanged off Maddie's highly polished wooden floor. "Malcolm, I'm so glad to see you're well - and happy."

"I am, Mum." Like a man in a daze Reed returned her tentative embrace with a careful one of his own. His mother smiled, the tip of her tongue sliding around her upturned lips.

"Please make sure he stays that way, Mister Tucker," she said demurely, offering her hand only to blush when he carried it gallantly to his mouth. "I hope we'll meet again sometime soon. Goodnight, gentlemen - Madeleine. I'll comm. when we're safely home, if I may?"

Before any objection could squeeze past the jerking obstruction in her husband's throat she had him down two shallow steps and onto the quiet residential street, the door closed with a decisive snap behind her. Open-mouthed, Madeleine swung to gape at her brother. "Did you ever?" she gasped.

"Not in a million." Sinking into the circle of Trip's arm seemed the safest - and pleasantest - way of steadying himself. Malcolm thrust a hand back through his hair, still fixated on the solid wooden door. "She reads the _Gazette_."

"Frankly, I'm more surprised she stands up to Dad." Maddie mimicked her brother's gesture before turning to a small mahogany cabinet tucked into the farthest corner of the lounge. "I need a drink. Join me?"

"Uh,well if you don't mind, Maddie, I'm gonna call it a night." Malcolm couldn't snuggle close enough, and if Trip had learned one thing in the past two years it was how to read a silent plea for comfort. "Mal?"

"Sounds like a good idea." The gratitude leaking through the pragmatic words almost broke his heart. When he spotted their hostess discreetly wiping her eyes, Trip realised he wasn't the only one.

*

Malcolm, Trip had learned early in their romance, was the most predictably unpredictable human firecracker any man ever took to his bed. The breadth of his erotic imagination made the Southerner feel like a blushing virgin at times, yet there were others when a softer, emotional side emerged equally at odds with the stern military demeanour the Englishman wore like an extra layer of uniform while on duty.

Physical stress, danger, action... they all fired the younger man up to an adrenaline high that, even when he'd taken injuries, could only be properly assuaged by hot, hard, ever-so-slightly rough sex. Many a traumatic day in the last two years had ended with Trip rolling around the floor beneath a lover hotter than a boy bunny in the Kalahari, teeth clashing, nails scoring bloody lines into skin as they fucked all seven kinds of sense out of each other, screaming their relief at surviving again. Just remembering those times could make him quiver.

Emotional stress... that brought on a very different reaction. The exact same one he'd experienced tonight. 

Despite Madeleine's teasing as they'd climbed her stairs all Mal had really wanted to do was crawl into his boyfriend's arms; to hold and be held, as if Trip's embrace were a castle wall his father's scorn and disgust could not breach. Neither man had spoken since the covers had come down around them. Trip preferred it that way; it meant less chance of stamping with his size 11's into a sensitive spot, and where his daddy was concerned Malcolm had a whole lot of those.

It had taken a while, but the brunet's breathing had finally begun to lengthen and with that signal Tucker could allow himself to relax, letting the slide into sleep begin. He was almost there, cocooned in fluffiness, when a drowsy voice mumbled, the words vibrating through his bare shoulder. "Thank you, love."

"'s okay." The response was instinctive, out before his sluggish brain could intervene. "Wha' for?"

The answer was accompanied by an upturn of the lips he felt all the way through to his marrow. "Understanding. And still loving me."

"Easiest job I've ever had, Mal." The other man's muffled snort made him smile as Trip tightened his hold and gently rocked his precious partner into sleep. "Easiest job I've ever had!"


End file.
